The Perfect Hope ib-3

by Nora Roberts

  Slathered in sweat and sunscreen, he huffed through his breathing mask as he hacked with the tear-off shovel. His muscles burned as if covered with simmering hot coals. Laborers hauled away the waste in wheelbarrows and carts, or hauled up replacement coolers of ice water.

  They drank like camels, and never quite kept up with the thirst as every ounce of fluid poured out in more sweat.

  “How many son-of-a-bitching layers of this shit is on here?” Beckett shouted.

  “It’s a miracle the whole goddamn thing didn’t fall in last winter.” As he broke up another section with a roof cutter, Ryder looked over and grinned. “She’s going now.”

  “If she doesn’t kill us first. What are you grinning at?”

  “I like the view.”

  Beckett paused, swiping at sweat and looked out. The copper roof of the inn gleamed and glinted in the sun. He could see The Square, and the traffic passing, people walking into Vesta’s for lunch, and shifting, he looked down Main to Turn The Page.

  “I’d rather look at the view from a shady porch, with a beer in one hand and my woman in the other.”

  “Use your imagination.” Ryder stripped off his saturated mask, glugged down water. Since he couldn’t waste the jug, he imagined pouring that cold water over his head.

  As he took a moment to roll his aching shoulders, he saw Hope come out onto the second-floor porch. She paused a moment, looking over and up, studying the work and workers. He knew the instant her gaze reached him; he’d have sworn he felt it like an arrow to the loins.

  She stood for a beat, as he did, then unlocked the door to J&R and disappeared inside.

  “Must have someone coming in,” Beckett commented.

  “Huh?”

  “Caught ya looking.”

  Ryder picked up a fresh mask. “No law against it.”

  “Not yet. Why don’t you ask her out?”

  “Why don’t you put that shovel to work?”

  “A little dinner, some conversation. Hell, she baked you a pie.”

  “You had as much of it as I did. You take her to dinner and talk to her.”

  “I have. Or Clare and I’ve had her over. You need a buffer, bro? We can have the two of you over, smooth the way.”

  “Blow me,” Ryder suggested, and hacked away.

  IT DIDN’T HURT to look, Hope told herself. She went inside, unlocked Eve and Roarke. There she could open the blinds, just enough to see through, and across to the roof. Or what she imagined was left of it.

  She’d had no idea how they’d intended to remove it. It seemed to involve a lot of sharp-bladed shovels, heavy bars, and some sort of saw. Along with a great deal of noise.

  She imagined it miserable work, but it provided her with an interesting perspective.

  Most of the men had stripped off their shirts. She hoped they’d made liberal and repeated use of sunscreen or they’d be hurting tonight.

  She debated with herself a moment, thought, what the hell?

  She hurried up to her apartment, grabbed her opera glasses, and jogged down again.

  Definitely miserable work, she concluded as she brought that perspective close through the glasses. And oh my, my, the man was seriously built.

  She’d seen it, when he had a shirt on, felt it the few times she’d been pressed against him. But … there was nothing quite like a full-on view of a sweaty man with muscles rippling.

  No woman alive could deny a little buzz, even if the sweaty, ripplymuscle sort wasn’t her usual type.

  She saw him glance over, pull down the mask to call out something to one of the other men. He had a damn good face, too—a little scruffy and unshaven over those strong bones, but damn good. And when he laughed, as he did now, another buzz zipped along inside her.

  She made a little humming sound.

  “Hope? I wasn’t sure what you wanted to do with …”

  Hope turned. She nearly whipped the opera glasses behind her back, but she wasn’t quite that bad off. Instead she grinned, maybe a little sheepishly, as Carolee stopped at the door.

  “I’m spying on the neighbors.”

  “Really?” Wiggling her eyebrows, Carolee walked over. “What’s—Oh, the roof. God, they have to be hot and sweaty and—” She broke off, laughed. “And that’s the whole point. Let me have a look.”

  She took the glasses, peered out through the slats of the blinds. “They are pretty, aren’t they? I only see two of the boys—Justine’s boys. Owen must’ve figured a way out. Horrible work. We should make them some lemonade.”

  “Oh, well, I don’t know if—”

  “Absolutely.” Beaming, Carolee handed the glasses back to Hope. “We’ll fill a couple of coolers, an ice bucket, take some plastic glasses. We have that folding table downstairs. It’s a good deed.”

  “And I should pay for the show?”

  Carolee gave her a little pat. “I wouldn’t say that. Come on, it won’t take much time. We’ve got a couple hours before checkin.”

  She couldn’t say no to Carolee, especially since she’d been caught ogling the woman’s nephew. So together they made vats of lemonade. They carted out the folding table, coolers, ice, cups. Carolee called one of the men by name, hailed him over. That started a rotation of men from the roof, from inside.

  She got a lot of “thanks, Hope,” or in a few cases “Miss Hope.”

  “You’re a lifesaver.” Beckett downed a cup, winked at his aunt.

  “You be careful up there.”

  “You bet. We’re almost done. We’re cutting through to the damn rubber now. Your timing’s good. We’re going to break for lunch, finish it up after.”

  “Sweep that area over there for nails,” Ryder ordered someone, then grabbed a cup, gulped down the contents. “Thanks.”

  “I’m going to call in the lunch order,” Beckett announced, and stepped away with his phone.

  “Here, Ryder, have another. Your mama’s coming by later.”

  “What for?”

  “Because I told her you were tearing off that roof, and she wants to see. I’m going to make another batch so y’all can have more with lunch.”

  “And she’s going to want to see the restaurant, and the bakery,” Ryder muttered. “Where the hell is Owen?”

  “Here.” Hope poured him another cup herself. “Cool off.”

  “There isn’t enough lemonade in the world.” But he drank it. “We’ll have gotten that bitch off before it gets too hot, so that’s something.”

  Hearing his master’s voice, D.A. wandered out, rubbed up against Ryder’s legs. Hope took a dog biscuit out of her pocket.

  “He’s going to start expecting a cookie every time he sees you.”

  “You got lemonade.”

  “He hasn’t been ripping off a tar-and-gravel roof and sweating off ten pounds.”

  She bent to pet the dog, tipped her face up so her eyes glinted through a dark curtain of hair. “Maybe I should get my garden hose.”

  “I might just use it at the end of the day.” He hesitated. “Have you got people coming in?”

  “Yes. Three rooms, one staying through the weekend.”

  “Okay.”

  “Any particular reason you asked?”

  “No.”

  Back to one-word responses, she thought, and tried another avenue. “I hear you shared your pie on Man Night.”

  “The kids were like vultures. I underestimated them.”

  “I’ve got half of one left. You can have it.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  “Pick it up before you leave. I have to get back to work.”

  “We’ll bring the table and stuff back. We appreciate it.”

  “All right. Oh, and I’m sure I can make time if you want me to hose you off.”

  She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes narrow in speculation before she turned and walked away.

  Hope considered herself a pretty good judge, and in her judgment she and Ryder Montgomery were having a serious flirtation.


  They’d see where it went from there.

  OWEN SHOWED UP as Ryder climbed down from the roof for the last time of the day. He could’ve bitched, but he noted Owen showed some sweat and dirt, and still wore his tool belt.

  But what the hell, a little bitching between brothers was just another sign of affection.

  “Figured you’d show up when the hard work was over.”

  “Somebody had to run the other crew since you got a wild hair to go off schedule. Those fugly tiles are gone over there, and wasn’t that fun?”

  Anything but, Ryder thought, and couldn’t help but be glad he didn’t have to do it.

  “If you get material in here tomorrow, we can start the new roof.”

  “It’ll be here at eight.” Owen gave Ryder an up-and-down study. “Looks like you’ve earned a beer.”

  “I earned a fucking six-pack.”

  “Avery’s closing tonight, so I’m going to go over, hang awhile. It’s Beckett’s turn to buy.”

  “Beckett’s going home,” Beckett announced. “And taking a five-hour shower. I may eat and sleep in the shower.”

  “Looks like you and me, Ry.”

  “Looks like you,” Ryder corrected. “I’m doing what Beckett’s doing, and so’s my dog.”

  “Fair enough, considering how the two of you smell. We’ll rain check it until tomorrow. We need to go over some things, both sites. We can do it before the crew gets here in the morning, or after we knock off.”

  “After,” Ryder said, definitely.

  “Friday night?” Beckett arched his brows. “No hot date?”

  “My hot dates don’t start that early, they go until early.” But he didn’t have one, and hadn’t thought about it. Maybe after he’d showered off three or four inches of grime, he’d give it more thought.

  “See you tomorrow then.” As Owen strolled off, Beckett looked back at the building. He and Ryder stood together like a couple of refugees from hell. “Flip you for who does the final check and locks up.”

  Mostly because he remembered early-morning coffee in the kitchen with Clare, Ryder shrugged. “Go on home to the wife and kids. I’ll do it.”

  “I’m already gone.”

  Ryder went back in, grabbed his clipboard. He wanted to note a couple things down, after he could stand to be around himself again. He checked the door facing St. Paul, got his cooler.

  Thought of lemonade.

  No time for that, he told himself. And though he wouldn’t mind the pie, he wasn’t going into the inn in his current state. He’d have to rain check that, too.

  He started out just as a truck pulled in.

  Willy B’s, he noted, with his mother riding shotgun. He tried not to think of the fact that Avery’s father was sleeping with his mother. He’d rather just continue to think of Willy B as he always had: an old family friend—a hell of a nice guy who’d been Tommy Montgomery’s best pal since childhood.

  If he thought of big, red-bearded Willy B as his mom’s lover, it just got sticky.

  Justine hopped out. She wore those pants that stopped inches above the ankle and some sort of girly T-shirt with fancy work around the neck.

  She’d fussed with herself some—the hair and face stuff—and looked damn pretty.

  “Don’t get too close.” He held up a hand. “I’m not fit for close.”

  “I’ve seen you worse, but this is a new shirt. So.” She blew him a kiss.

  “Back atcha. How’s it going, Willy B?”

  “Going good.” He stood six and a half feet. A big man with a big heart, and a full head of wild red hair that matched the beard he sported. He stood, thumbs tucked in pockets, eyeing the building. “Took the roof clean off.”

  “There wasn’t anything clean about it. I guess you want to take a look inside.”

  “Wouldn’t mind it. If you want to get on, I can lock it up for you.”

  “It’s okay.” He led the way.

  Willy B ducked in, swiveled his head side to side, up and down as he walked the space. “Justine, you got some imagination.”

  “It’s going to be fabulous. My boys won’t settle for less.”

  “She doesn’t give us a choice. We got material coming first thing in the morning so we can start on the new roof.”

  He talked roofs and windows with Willy B, then let Justine drag Willy B around, pointing to the rough spaces that would be locker rooms, a little classroom, reception space.

  “I expect you to join up.”

  “Oh now, Justine.”

  “Don’t ‘oh now’ me.” She wagged a finger, then patted Willy B’s arm. “I’m going to give you a discount since we’re going to be in-laws.”

  He grinned at that. “That’s something, isn’t it? My girl and your boy. Wouldn’t Tommy do a dance over it?”

  And that was it, Ryder thought. What made Willy B Willy B. He would think of his friend, always.

  “He really would. And he’d’ve told me I was crazy for buying this place. Then he’d have strapped on his tools. Oh, I tell you we’re going to have such a pretty place here, nothing like it around. I’ve got big plans for the locker rooms.”

  “Your mom mentioned the lockers and such,” Willy B said to Ryder. “I know a guy, they do good work there.”

  “Owen’s been looking into it some. Maybe you can give him the name.”

  “I’ll do that. We’re going over to Vesta in a bit. I’ll give it to Avery.”

  “Owen’s there.”

  “Perfect.” Justine nodded. “We want to go through the new restaurant space before we get some dinner.”

  “Owen’s got the key. He’ll take you through.”

  “Buy you a beer,” Willy B offered. “And pizza if you want.”

  “Not like this.” Ryder spread his hands. “The Health Department might shut her down. But thanks.”

  “When this place is finished, you can take a shower and a steam.” Justine smiled at him. “I hear you’re hitting on our innkeeper.”

  “Oh now, Justine,” Willy B murmured as Ryder scowled.

  “I am not.”

  “Was it someone who just looked like you kissing her out in the lot yesterday?”

  “That was just … nothing.”

  “It looked like something to Mina Bowers, who was driving by, and who told Carolee, who told me.”

  He’d known it would get around, but he hadn’t expected it to get around to his mother so quickly. “People should mind their own business.”

  “Well, that never happens,” Justine said cheerfully. “And oddly enough I heard firsthand from Chrissy Abbot, who was walking her dog, the two of you had another ‘just nothing’ earlier. A little digging and I found out the man in the fancy suit who was here at the time was that Jonathan Wickham.”

  “Yeah, he came by to try to steal her back for his hotel, and try to talk her into sleeping with him again.”

  “I thought he got married,” Willy B began.

  “Oh, Willy B, don’t be so naive. That bastard,” Justine said, with considerable heat. “Why do I hear about you kissing Hope and not knocking that bastard on his ass?”

  Ryder’s smile covered his face, and came straight from the heart. “I love you, Mom. Seriously.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Because I didn’t know until he was out of range. She set him straight.”

  “I’d expect no less. If that son of a bitch shows his face around here again, I want you to kick him right off our property. Or call me and I’ll do it myself. I’d like to do it. I should go in and talk to her.”

  “She’s got people in there.”

  “I’ll talk to her tomorrow then.” She took two long breaths to calm down. “If you want to hit on her and not have people talk about it, do it in private.”

  “I’m not hitting on her.”

  “If you’re not, I’m disappointed in you. Meanwhile, you go on and clean up, get some rest. I’ll talk to you later. And, Ry, it’s good work here. You can see it already.”


  She could, he thought as they left. She always could see. Sometimes more than was comfortable.

  “Hitting on her. Jesus. Disappointed if I’m not. You just can’t figure women, even mothers. Maybe especially mothers. Come on, Dumbass, let’s go take a shower.”

  He knew the word, wiggled in anticipation, trotting out as Ryder followed.

  After he locked up, he turned and saw Hope, with another pie plate, crossing to his truck.

  Why the hell were they always meeting up in the damn parking lot?

  “You just missed my mother and Willy B.”

  “Oh. I wish they’d come in.”

  “I thought you had people in there.”

  “I do.” She gestured at the two cars in the lot beside hers and Carolee’s. “And I bet they’d have loved to meet her. Your pie.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  “Carolee’s serving wine and cheese to the guests, but I should get back in and help. I wanted to ask you something first.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you considering the idea of having sex with me?”

  “What the hell am I supposed to say to that?”

  “The truth would work. I’m very big on honesty in any sort of relationship, however casual. I’ve lived and learned on that one. So I’d like to know if you are while I’m considering it. Straightforward,” she continued, as he stood, scowling and speechless. “No strings, no complications. If you’re not, no problem. I’d just like to be on the same page.”

  Talk about putting the cards on the table. “The same page. I don’t know what the hell page I’m on.”

  He was tired, filthy, and she was hitting on him in the damn parking lot. Had he thought she needed more figuring out? Hell, there was no figuring her out.

  “All right. When you do, just let me know.”

  “Just let you know,” he repeated. “Yes or no.”

  “It’s simpler, isn’t it? You look tired,” she observed. “You’ll feel better after you clean up and get something to eat. I have to go in. Good night.”

  “Yeah.” He opened the door to let the dog jump in. After a debate, he decided to drive with the pie on his lap. D.A. wouldn’t be able to hold back from sticking his whole face in it otherwise.

  He got behind the wheel, just sat there.

  “No, you can’t figure women, Dumbass. You just can’t figure them.”